


Stolen Family (in two regards)

by AlmondBlossomsTC



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa Another Episode: Ultra Despair Girls
Genre: Character study for michi and takaaki, Gen, HERE IT IS! THE NOTDAD COLLECTION!, taken from rps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29007432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmondBlossomsTC/pseuds/AlmondBlossomsTC
Summary: (Potentially further chapters) RP compilations for Takemichi and Takaaki found family content!
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Stolen Family (in two regards)

**Author's Note:**

> WE HAVE ARRIVED! This is just the compiled first RP thread that sagscrib and I did for Takaaki and Takemichi in Towa city. I edited this one pretty minimally, just to make it clear who was talking when. Might post more later on! I haven't had writing juice for a million years but we've done loads of these as a team.
> 
> This thread takes place after they find out that Taka and Mondo are dead, before they get rescued, while they're still on the run.

The roof was a terrible spot to eat lunch. They would be trapped, too far off the ground to fall, too far from other buildings to jump, and no damn point to being there. The view was just as bad from up top as it was down below. The one good thing that could be said about the rooftop would be that Michi’s cigarette smoke would float away faster. Takaaki stubbornly chose a segment that was far upwind of where Michi was wandering, laid his coat down, and laboriously sat on the gravel. Then, imagining the luxury of a 7-11 bento lunch, he tore grudgingly into his protein bar.

Takemichi, seeing Takaaki arrive, dropped his half-finished cigarette and crushed it underfoot before walking over to join him. He probably still smelled like smoke, but it was fine. The old man could deal. 

"Man, these things again?" he said, sighing. "Wish they had left, like, some beef or something before they abandoned us on this rock."

“Beef is a terrible ration,” Takaaki monotoned, being careful to chew and swallow before responding. He had to choke it down, but it was food. “It spoils too quickly and requires too much preparation. These are prepackaged, portable, and nutritious.” In theory. He squinted at the wrapper to try and see how many grams of sugar was in each bar - the writing was too small to make out. It wasn’t as if it was their primary concern anyway. 

With a sigh, Takaaki fussily folded the empty plastic, creasing it and stowing it in a pocket. He gave Takemichi a helpless look, as he often did when there was nothing to do but chat and fret.

"Let a man dream, will you?" Takemichi leaned back, looking at the overcast sky. He hated looking at Takaaki when he made that face- it was an awful reminder of their situation. 

"Good rations or no, I'd kill for a steak dinner. The juicy kind, with a side of potatoes." He looked back at Takaaki. "What about you?"

Ignoring the teenager’s _terrible_ phrasing, Takaaki considered. Forcing himself to relax his posture, as much as he could, from being frozen completely stiff, he opened his mouth. “Not steak,” he countered. It wasn’t something he’d often eaten anyway, before, instead usually opting for ¥500 gyudon bowls if he needed to eat lunch while on shift. “Salmon. With sesame oil and white rice.” God, his mouth watered at the thought, and he had to swallow again around the lingering crumbs of oats and dust. “With a glass of cold clean water,” he added.

"That doesn't sound half bad, either," Michi conceded. A little bland, maybe, but the old man’s palate had probably faded with age. Or maybe there was another reason- the kind not usually discussed casually. 

He shook the thought from his head. "If I never have to see another protein bar, it'll be too soon. First thing I do when we get out of here is find out where they're made and torch the place." He had decided that it was _when,_ not _if,_ no matter what. They were both going to escape.

“First thing...” Moments passed with the strange streaky clouds above them. It was difficult to tell the time with the air so polluted that the sun rarely showed fully. “The first I’ll do is take a shower, if available,” Takaaki picked back up. This game was a good one. Absently, he found himself fiddling with one of the small rocks that surrounded them. He tossed it over the edge.

“What do you miss most about your home?” He wondered aloud, not looking at him, thinking of the soft towels that Kiyotaka and he had splurged on (with a coupon).

Takemichi thought for a moment, picking up his own small stone. He hadn't felt like he had a home in a long time, Not since Daiya... 

Not since Daiya. 

"Think I can get one in the eye from here?" he said, leaning over the edge to peer at the Monokumas below. "We can bet on it. I win, you let me drive the squad car."

For a long moment, Takaaki looked at his knees. Then he glanced sideways at Takemichi, deadpanned “I doubt it.” and looked away again. He didn’t want to ask another question, step over the line. Their friendship was so tenuous and so valued. “And you’re too reckless to drive anything larger than a bicycle,” he added, unable (despite everything) to resist the dig.

“Hey, I can be careful if I want to,” the young man said, electing to bounce the gravel off of the other’s arm instead of the streets below. It was probably a lie- he didn’t know, he hadn’t tried in a long time. Not wanting the conversation to stop, but knowing that Takaaki wouldn’t continue on his own, he searched for another question to ask. 

“Ever have any pets?” he came up with, eventually.

Takaaki twitched at the impact but didn’t look towards the boy. Kiyotaka had never asked for a pet and they’d never spoken about getting one. Too messy, too expensive. “The occasional house spider,” he answered, sardonic. _Please don’t squash it - I’ll put it outside!_ Christ. He pinched his thigh, hard. Was there no safe topic for him, once his son had entered his mind again? 

_left behind in life left behind in death the only one remaining to bear the burden_

He cast around for an appropriate question, settling for, “What’s your favourite animal?”

Takemichi tapped his chin, considering it. “I dunno. Cats, maybe? The kind that weren’t intent on scratching you to hell and gone, at least. There was this nice old tabby that used to wander around my neighborhood.” He threw a stone down, missing the nearest robot by several feet. “Bet she’s still alive somewhere, out of spite if nothing else. She looked like she was daring death to come get her every time I saw her.” 

He picked up another pebble, rolling it around in his fingers for a few moments before he spoke again. “What about you?”

Three in, five out. Four in, six out. Five in, seven out. Takaaki stabilized. “I was never an animal lover,” he replied, picking up a piece of gravel and pitching it over the edge. Again. Again. “If I had to choose, maybe- fish?” 

A moment passed and he realized he’d been a bit rude, not asking Takemichi’s question in response. “Have you ever had a pet?”

Takemichi snorted. “Nah. Not unless you count, like, a billion toddlers. Shit was loud as hell. I’m glad I had someplace to go during the day.” Careful, now, he realized. He was treading dangerously close to spilling his guts. “Fish, though? Your first big meal when you get out is gonna be your favorite animal? That’s a little sadistic.”

“They’re my favourite _because_ I like to eat them,” Takaaki said defensively, tossing the next rock less confrontationally. He did hope that fish was still an option when they left the city. His mouth watered thinking of tuna nigiri. Takemichi’s other statement felt like a baited hook, so he bit. “Why did you know so many toddlers? Did you work in a school?”

“Nah. I’d never _choose_ to be around kids. They were all gremlins. I was a foster kid,” Michi explained, avoiding eye contact- not that it was difficult, Takaaki never seemed too keen on making it, anyway. 

He was walking a very dangerous line. Cross it, and the other man might get sad, or uncomfortable, or fix him with that pitiful look that made his stomach turn to stone. 

Change the subject. “If I did get a job, it’d be something cool. Like, I dunno, lion taming or something.”

_Foster child._ Takaaki’d seen far too many on the job. Causing trouble, being in trouble, being the subject of some truly worrying welfare checks. It made too much sense, given Takemichi’s bearing and behaviour. Cautious to press, he left it. They both had family secrets.

“Not that the traditional career system likely exists anymore,” he replied instead. “There are police officers that ride motorcycles. You have bike riding experience.”

“I’ll make my _own_ circus to run away with before I become a cop,” Michi snorted. Still, he considered it- he could do one of the few things he still loved, get a paycheck, and maybe help out a few folks while he did it. The Oowada ghosts would haunt the shit out of him, but that might be fine. 

_At least he could be sure they were close._

“Tell me what cop life’s like, and maybe I’ll think about it. No promises, though.”

“I don’t know what every officer’s life is like,” Takaaki said waspishly. “But mine was... busy.” One day off per week, pushing 60 hours once Kiyotaka left for boarding school and he no longer needed to worry about childcare, overnight shifts, desk work, field work. The scar at his hairline and the multiple hidden under his shirt. 

He readjusted himself. “It depends on how the hiring standards have changed since everything happened. Do you have a criminal record?”

"I mean, yeah." The teen thought for a moment. "Maybe? I've never gone to _jail,_ but I've been arrested a few times. I doubt it'll matter either way, honestly- they can probably use all the help they can get." He huffed once. "Not that I'm considering it." Busy might be good for him, though. A distraction he could rely on.

The air left Takaaki and he shook his head. “You’re too young for any of that,” he sighed, leaning back. “Kids your age should be in school, not working.” He tossed another rock off the roof. “What did you want to be, when you grew up, after you graduated?”

"I'unno," Michi responded. He used to get this question a lot, and he still didn't have a response. The first time he was asked, he had told his teacher that he didn't think he'd live that long, which led to a wellness check to his house and 2 very angry legal guardians. He stopped responding honestly after that, usually just picking whatever the kid next to him did. 

"Always thought it'd be nice to be a writer, I guess. Language arts was always my favorite," he sighed. That was as close to the truth as he would get. "What were you like in school? One'a those mathlete types?"

A writer. Takaaki almost smiled. No one in their family had ever been much for creative pursuits, once Kiyotaka had stopped doing colouring pages. “Maybe you’ll write about this one day,” he murmured, nearly inaudible, before straightening his back. “I was never as academic as my son. He was-“ _don’t say was_ “-much smarter than I ever could be. I favoured the sciences and history, and I wasn’t good enough to go into politics. Public service was a good second option.” 

He shook his head and drummed on his legs. The past wasn’t a good subject for either of them. “If I became mortally injured as we were being pursued, would you leave me behind or put me out of my misery?”

_Jesus, Ishimaru._ "Neither," Michi said. He didn't need time to think. He had decided some time ago. "We get out of here together, or we die here together. I'm-" _I'm not losing another family._ He'd never say it out loud, but Takaaki had become... something to him. Like a weird uncle, or grandpa, or something. He wasn't quite sure how to describe it. 

"If I lost you, I wouldn't make it far, anyway." His voice was quiet. "You're the one with the gun," he joked, knowing that's not what he meant.

Takaaki’s hands went numb and his face pinched. “Enough people have died,” he said, too sharply. “I would want you to get away, if I couldn’t.” He hadn’t considered Takemichi dying, somehow. Only himself. It was more distressing than he could have imagined. Wordlessly, he unbuckled his holster and handed his gun over, looking at the boy’s right cheek.

Takemichi looked from the gun to Takaaki a few times. "Are you fucking kidding me? No. If that's the only thing keeping you here, I'm not taking it." He felt his volume starting to rise, and he took a deep breath. 

"We're both getting out of here. Man's promise." He put out his hand sternly.

Takaaki stayed stubbornly in place for a moment, then sank again. Setting the damn thing on the ground, he took Takemichi’s hand and shook it once, then looked away, pulling his knees up as best he could. His arms still felt weird and half-dead - his heart had constricted at the heavy topic. 

_The only thing keeping me here is you, you stubborn little-_

Clearing his throat, he conceded, “My answer is the same. So, I hope we can agree that you should be less reckless, in future.”

Michi laughed once. "Fat chance, gramps," he said, nudging him lightly. Then, seriously- "I'll do my best." He was silent for a long while, throwing gravel into the abandoned streets below, cheering softly when he managed to hit something he was aiming for. 

"I wanna break into an aquarium," he said, eventually, "if they still have 'em. I've always wanted to go."

Takaaki fell quiet with him, just watching. _An aquarium._ Likely by now they were all smelly animal graveyards, full of fish skeletons in tanks. The idea was nice, though. 

“They had a good one in Osaka. My father took me once,” he replied, picking up a pebble and throwing it down hard enough to hear it collide and skip on the road below. “We’ll go to that one.” As long as they were being fanciful, he’d engage.

“Does it have sharks? I’ve always wanted to see a shark. Hell, I bet I could get up real close. No one around to stop me.” There better be a shark. What’s the point in keeping a bunch of animals if they aren’t even dangerous?

“Yes, Takemichi, there were sharks.” Such a range of emotions fit within the boy. “There were many different kinds. There was a tank to pet them, as well.” He wished he could have taken- 

_Stop._

Kiyotaka would have enjoyed it. He would have researched each animal beforehand so that he could tell- 

_Stop that._

Takaaki picked up a handful of gravel and let it fall between his fingers so that the awful dusty sensation would occupy him.

Seeing Takaaki start fidgeting, Takemichi put a hand on his shoulder and offered a soft smile. He wished he could do more. Hopefully, they still had therapists on the outside. God knows he could use one. 

(They both could, but he didn’t need to think about that right now.)

Takaaki covered the hand on his shoulder with one of his own - after wiping it on his pant leg, of course. An anchor. No, inaccurate - Takemichi didn’t weigh him down, only grounded him. 

He’d never had any talent for wordplay. 

“If you had $1000,” Takaaki started, wanting to resume the harmless conversation from before. “If you were given that, before this all started - what would you have done with it?”

"$1000, huh?" Michi asked, not moving his hand. "I'd probably save it, even if that's the boring answer. There were some repairs around the apartment that needed to be dealt with, and whatever was left over would be a lot of dinners. I'd relax for a few weeks, then get back into the flow of things." 

He sighed. The contact felt nice. "What would you do with a thousand big ones?"

_A well-behaved and clever child is a credit to its parents,_ his father had used to say. Takemichi was a credit entirely to himself. He wasn’t sure what answer he’d been expecting - what does a juvenile delinquent spend money on? - but Takaaki was a little impressed. 

With a sigh, careful not to move his shoulder overmuch, Takaaki replied, “If it wasn’t going to debt payments, it would be going to bills and fees and rent. But if I had to put those aside...” For all the budgeting that he’d had to do, there had so rarely been leftovers that he really had to scrounge for an idea. And even longer to find one that wasn’t for... that was for him. “...new clothes, maybe.”

"New clothes don't sound half bad." Clean clothes sounded like heaven at this point. It was a small blessing that the robobears couldn't _smell_ them. "You have an ideal outfit in mind? Like, one you'd see in the window of one of those fancy stores and go, 'yeah, I'd wear that forever, if I could.' No holds barred, price is no object."

Takaaki’d been ignoring the awful feeling of his own dirty clothes for far too long. Finding others that fit correctly and felt _right_ seemed, at present, impossible. But in an ideal world... 

“I’ve never in my life had a suit that fit me correctly,” he admitted. “Not even when I was younger. I’m shaped...strangely.” Slacks and sleeves were always too short. He’d had to be photographed from the knees up on his wedding day. 

“Or maybe something very comfortable. Soft pants. A sweater.” He scuffed his foot at the ground. Comfort had never been a priority, but it would be nice. “I’m assuming you would opt for something leather. Something ‘bad ass’.” With his free hand, he did air quotes.

Takemichi chuckled. "I wouldn't call it 'badass', per se. I've always wanted a pair of overalls. The kind with bleach spots and legs that were all frayed at the end. But I'd put, like, a thousand pins on it, and get someone to print the diamonds logo on the bigass chest pocket. Keep all my shit in there." 

He had decided long ago that he'd keep the diamonds logo somewhere on him at all times- he had been planning on getting a tattoo, once he could pay for good ink. A few of the diamonds offered to give him a stick and poke, but he didn't trust them as far as he could throw them, and he didn't have much upper body strength. 

"Mostly I just like the idea of having pockets everywhere. Maybe cargo pants. I'd probably never lose anything."

Takaaki thought that sounded terrible. “That sounds terrible,” he said, bluntly. “Why pins? It would get heavy. And pre-ruined with bleach and fraying? That’s simply impractical.” Clearly Takemichi had never had to fear looking sloppy, looking dirty, looking poor. 

“Having too many things in your pockets would give you oddly shaped legs. Carry a bag,” he added, a little snootily. With a shake of his head, he wondered - almost rhetorically - “Have you ever needed to dress formally?”

He didn't mean it, Takemichi knew, but it still stung. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, then shrugged. "I'unno. Thought it would look cool," he mumbled. The situation felt familiar in a way he could easily place, but chose not to. He felt ashamed for even bringing it up, even _being there._

His hand felt like an offense, and it was almost certainly twitching. _You're overreacting. Calm down. Takaaki isn't your folks. You're here now._

He took a deep breath and forced some cheer into his (slightly shaking) voice. "Think we should throw a big party when we get out of here, or just somethin small?"

Takaaki knew he’d done something wrong. Freezing like a cat in the beam of a flashlight, he listened to Takemichi’s tone more than his words. Nothing new had crossed their field of view, the weather hadn’t changed. The only new thing that could have made Takemichi go small like that was him. He hated knowing that he’d done something wrong, but not knowing what. 

“I don’t know anyone to invite to a party,” he admitted, a little too vulnerable, a little too glum, hunching. The mood had been so good and he’d spoiled it. Trying weakly, he added, “If your gang is around, I’m sure they would have a party with you to celebrate the lot of you being safe.”

Takemichi scooted a little closer, bending his arm awkwardly to bump Takaaki's shoulder with his own affectionately. "We'd invite you too- s'long as you can keep from arresting us for a night," he joked. He knew Takaaki was upset, probably becase he had been upset. He wanted to reassure him, but that wasn't the way they worked. Everything was indirect and tentative. 

They really had to work on that. 

"We can have salmon, if you want. Me and the guys could make a day outta cooking it."

Unconsciously leaning to the contact, Takaaki half smiled, still a little self deprecating. Takemichi sounded better. He hadn’t shrivelled up, or left, or pushed him off the roof, or anything. “I’m not good at parties,” he murmured. “And I’m not good at ignoring criminal activities. As long as there is no lawbreaking during the event, however, I would allow it.” It was comforting to think that there might be people left for the boy. Again, his hands hurt, just slightly. “It doesn’t take a full day to cook salmon. ...But I could make the miso.”

"Somethin' doesn't have to take all day for you to make a day out of it." They had been up here for hours, it seemed, but Michi still wasn't keen on leaving. "You just hafta goof off for long enough to _make_ it take all day. That's the fun part."

“That’s not a good use of time,” the older man insisted, shaking his head and smiling where Takemichi couldn’t see. “You could get things done instead of ‘goofing off’.” Despite everything, he was a child. He was a child with people waiting for him. That gave Takaaki comfort. 

Something else still weighed on him. “If something happens to me, I want you to get out of here. Go have your party. Go where you want to,” he insisted, peeking over at Takemichi. “If I fall to this, I want you to continue.”

Michi glared. “I told you, gramps, it ain’t gonna happen.” He knew if he lost Takaaki, he’d be following soon after. Neither of them had a say in the matter. “S’not up for debate. ‘Sides, we’re both gettin out anyways, so you don’t needa worry bout it, got it?”

“But if it _does_ -“ Takaaki started to insist, then stopped, huffing. There would be no reasoning with him, clearly. 

He refused to think about the opposite scenario. He wouldn’t be in blatant denial that it could happen, as Takemichi seemed to be, but he wouldn’t acknowledge it. Stifling a sigh, he shook his head, trying to change the subject. “Would you ever have children?”

Takemichi laughed, half amused, half surprised. “Nah. I don’t like...” 

And he paused, because he had lost people this way before. Rumors would circulate, and eventually he’d have to move again- partially due to the bullying, mostly because the people watching over him didn’t want him anymore. 

He pressed his cheek to Takaaki’s shoulder. He felt safe here, whatever that meant, and his gut hadn’t failed him before. 

“Women,” he finished. “I’m gay. And as much as I’d love to get some kids out of the adoption system, I doubt they’d let me, and even if they did, I’d make a terrible dad.” He wouldn’t have the first clue what to do. He’d never known a good father growing up- 

Well, maybe one, he decided, squeezing Takaaki’s arm.

Takaaki blinked down at him. 

_Papa, I- I need to tell you something!_

Why didn’t this memory hurt? Why didn’t- Perhaps because Takemichi was _so_ unlike Kiyotaka. Maybe this could be alright. Maybe, he could, again- 

At the boy’s touch, he tentatively shifted out of Takemichi’s grasp and put his arm around his shoulders, holding himself stiffly at first as if waiting to be shrugged off before settling. “Neither did my son,” Takaaki admitted. “That doesn’t necessarily exclude you.” Particularly now that the world had gone to hell. There would be plenty needing homes. “You’re too young to be thinking of it anyway,” he continued. “Too young to be drawing those conclusions.” Lord knows he’d thought the same. And yet, if children were a credit to their parents, perhaps he’d been wrong.

Michi chuckled, and it sounded watery, and he realized he was crying. “Sorry,” he said, still laughing, scrubbing at the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. “Never gotten a good response to that. I’m kind of in uncharted territory here.” He leaned into Takaaki, sniffling. It was nice.

“You’re a good guy. Despite bein’ a bootlicker ‘n all.” Couldn’t be too heartfelt- had to throw the insult in to diffuse the situation. It was probably one of those things he’d picked up from Daiya.

Giving Takemichi a squeeze, Takaaki huffed. There were tears prickling at the corners of his own eyes as well. Not a sympathetic crier - living with Kiyotaka would have been impossible - but Jesus, he’d seen Takemichi cry all of once before this. After finding out- that. And this occasion was more manageable by far. 

“You’re a good kid as well,” he murmured, curling his arm to bring Takemichi in protectively. “I’ve never understood that jibe.” A good kid. He just wasn’t sure how the boy could count their lives as equal in value when he was so resilient and bright.

Takemichi sniffed. "Jibe? You really are an old man. Maybe I'll explain it to you someday." 

For a while he was content to sit in silence, reveling in the warmth and the feeling that was a lot like home- whether he was ready to call it that or not. "$1000, but you have to spend it in a day." He paused to clear his throat. "That's the real question you need to be asking."

Takaaki was content enough to just exist quietly together for a moment, far enough above the city that it was almost peaceful. Away from the blood and destruction for the most part. Takemichi was warm, and safe, and present. An anchor. A tether. “In one day? I would put it towards rent,” Takaaki said, slower and more contentedly. “I realize that isn’t the _fun_ answer. But there isn’t much that I want.” 

Nothing that could be bought.

"You're right. That isn't fun," the boy decided. "You kinda have to stop thinkin' about fun when you're an adult, though, I guess. Responsibilities 'n shit." Takemichi sighed. "I'd get a dog. From what Mo- from what I've heard, they're somethin' special. 'N I should probably adopt _somethin_ before I kick the bucket." He wasn't going to think about him right now.

“You have time.” Takaaki didn’t want to let go of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a hug this long. Maybe not since Kiyotaka was a child. Not even when he was off to Hopes Peak - he’d been too excited to go. And- They hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye in person. One last video call, using a coworker’s smartphone and one of Kiyotaka’s classmate’s laptops. 

He had to force himself back into his head. Takemichi was warm. Sometimes the only thing keeping him attached to the world. He insisted again, “You have time.”

“We both do,” Michi insisted quietly. “We got all the time in the world.” If lying to himself was what it took to keep him afloat- and it seemed more and more like that was the case- then he would do what he had to. Focus on keeping his head above water before he tried to swim. 

“We can both get a dog. Or you can help watch over mine. Prolly a buncha strays runnin around, needin homes.” _And how were they different, now, them and him?_

_All the time in the world._ Takaaki snorted. “I have maybe 30 years left, if I’m lucky. Plenty of time to help you care for a feral dog or three.” He let out a sigh. “Although we might need homes now, as well. Depending on if the entire country looks like this.”

Takemichi pshawed. "Finding a building to live in ain't gonna be nothin'. I can name 7 old warehouses offa the top of my head- at least one has to still be standin', right?" Hopefully. There's bound to be a lot of abandoned homes, at any rate, but he wasn't sure how Takaaki would feel living where a dead stranger once slept. Not great, he'd guess.

“Warehouses...?” Takaaki wrinkled his face. Yes, he was used to modest living. In a _living space_. They’d been functionally squatting so far, but he did prefer knowing where the nearest toilet was. And if it worked. And a shower. He supposed Takemichi was just more resilient than he himself was. He almost smiled. “And what would your ideal home be like?”

"Warm," Takemichi said. "And quiet. Cozy, but with all the bells n' whistles. I've always wanted a balcony, or a fireplace. Both, maybe. Windows at the east and west so I could watch the sun." 

People to share it with, ideally. He knew how small it was now, saying it out loud, but it still felt out of reach. "You?"

Takaaki hummed along with Takemichi’s explanation. He’d really thought through it - good kid. He respected a goal. 

The follow-up stumped him. Ideal house, certainly he’d thought about. Within a reasonable walk of a well-connected train station and a decent grocery store. Comfortable bed. Deep bathtub. 

His ideal home was out of reach forever. He shook his head, choked.

Michi furrowed his brow, then slowly wrapped his arms around Takaaki's chest, giving him enough time to move away if he so chose. "Y'dont hafta answer," he said. "S'ok. This isn't s'posed 't hurt. We don't hafta talk at all, if you don't want to."

It had been a long time before meeting Takemichi that he’d been offered understanding. Once Kiyotaka had moved off to the academy, there’d been the twice weekly phone call; he had barely spoken outside of that. And after a while, even that stopped. There was endless work for law enforcement, but it wasn’t as if he conversed with his coworkers or the people he arrested. 

Understanding. Understanding and kinship. It wasn’t fair of him to impose his own grief on a similarly grieving teenager. 

Arms around him were enough to crack him open. He tightened his own hold and hunched, shrinking, hoping Takemichi couldn’t feel the tears leaking down into his hair. There was no doubt he could feel the shaking.

Takemichi rubbed circles into Takaaki's back, trying to soothe him. "S'ok," he said, and hoped it was true. He didn't shush him- he already cried so quietly. Another thing they had in common, he supposed- he wondered if Takaaki was as ashamed of himself in his weakness as he was. 

He closed his eyes. He couldn't offer much, he knew, but he could offer that small privacy. "S'ok." Not all the time. So many things weren't okay. But it was okay to sit on the roof and cry and he hoped to God the man felt at least _safe_.

The older man was lost in memory anyway. Memories of people who were gone now.

_Stop that whimpering, Takaaki, you aren’t a dog._

_What are you crying for? He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet._

_Papa?_

No judgment here. No chastisement. Only comfort. 

_God,_ in his forties and weeping like a child, _on_ a child. For maybe the first time in weeks, he laughed, rather wetly. Takemichi was an exceptional young man. 

“One day it might be,” he whispered, barely choking it out. “But it isn’t yet.” 

_I wish I wasn’t glad that you’re here with me. It’s selfish and it’s a terrible fate._

"Doesn't have to be," Michi said. He kept his voice low, afraid that he'd startle him. "Everything- most things, they're shitty, and it's okay to hurt about it. You don't hafta justify it." 

He was talking to both of them, he knew. He knew his only real strong suit was calming people down _(it was calming Him down, it wasn't about anyone else, because before now you only lived for Him)_ but Takaaki had been trying to be calm about this for as long as they knew each other, and if there was ever a situation where it was okay to just sit and _feel shit,_ this was it.

There was a lot that Takaaki wished he could say, but couldn’t manage. _You deserved a better youth than this._ _It’s distressing how strong you are and how strong you’ve had to be._

_I wish you could have known him. He would’ve loved you._

Instead, he tentatively brought a hand up to Takemichi’s hair and gave it a ruffle, how he used to for Kiyotaka, then brought it back down and gave the back of his neck a slow rub. He was tense. This was the only soothing he could find to offer at the moment.

Takemichi sighed. Parental affection could be nice, it seemed. You learn something new every day. He missed so much of this- the closeness, the openness, the human connection. What would he have been if he hadn't been so deprived? Would he have been softer, or louder, or more secure? 

If he had this as a child, could he have grown to be a good person? 

And again, he didn't realize he was crying until he had to gasp for air. "Sorry," he apologized again, despite knowing he didn't have to. He was allowed to be vulnerable here.

Takaaki could feel the boy crumble in his arms, and it didn’t stop him crying, but it brought him a strange peace. Knowing that he wouldn’t suppress his own feelings for Takaaki’s sake. Knowing that they could have this, these moments of stillness and grief. He kept up the embrace. “I’m sorry,” he replied in turn. He wasn’t sure what else to say.

"We can't both be sorry, asshole," Michi laughed, breathlessly. "Don't apologize." Neither of them had anything to be sorry for, anyway. It was just noise, and everything was loud enough already. He stayed silent after that, aside from the occasional gasp or sniffle. One day he'd learn how to express himself openly, he was sure. 

He wasn't covering his mouth now, so he supposed he was on the right track. "Thanks," he muttered, not quite sure how to put into words the things he was grateful for.

They sat like that for a long, long while. Every so often, one of them would murmur a thanks or an apology. Their weeping would wax and wane, but they didn’t break apart. Takaaki found himself almost drifting off there, in the comfort.

"We can leave whenever yer ready," Takemichi murmured, feeling Takaaki start to nod. "Or we can stay here. Doesn' matter." And it really didn't- as long as they were safe, it didn't much matter where they were, he thought. "Prolly shouldn't sleep on the rooftop, at any rate."

“You’re right,” the older man agreed. Wordlessly, they separated, perhaps closer to a family than before. All the family either of them had left.

**Author's Note:**

> and then they lived happily after as notdad and notson


End file.
